It Always Starts in Cokeworth
by preciselypotter
Summary: Lily Evans went down a different path in life when she left Hogwarts. Two years later, the last person she'd expect comes to bring her back into the world she left behind. AU. [Rating subject to change]
1. Chapter 1

**It Always Starts in Cokeworth  
Chapter One  
**

…

**1**

Cokeworth always smelled slightly of coal and cotton.

As a young girl, Lily never noticed the odors of the factories across the river. She had been born in Cokeworth General Hospital, had attended Cokeworth Primary School, and grew up on Packer Street where the wind passed along the scent of burning coal more strongly than the rest of the entire town. But the summer after Lily's first year attending Hogwarts in the clean Scottish highland air, Lily stepped out of her father's car upon her return and nearly gagged.

In the summers following that first awful transition back to the smell of Cokeworth Lily had managed to grow accustomed once more to the stuffy air—but it was Hogwarts' scent that gave her a true sense of childhood nostalgia.

So it was strange that, after finding a place that felt much more like home than her home town, Lily found herself twenty, married, and settled in Cokeworth.

She sat on the front porch swing, watching the shade line move across the street. It was Lily's day off—not that Lily had a job, exactly. Against her best intentions, Lily had become a housewife in the spitting image of her own mother. On the bright side, magic made quick work of the menial housework Lily faced every day. The down side included long stretches of abject boredom.

At around two o' clock, Lily decided to go to the store. There was nothing in particular she needed to purchase; if she spent the rest of her day stuck on Packer Street her mind would snap and she would take it out on poor Richard, who did absolutely nothing to deserve Lily's wrath. With a vague plan of action in mind, Lily stepped back inside her house and was immediately met with a soft mewling.

"Oh _hush_, Mosley," she sighed, stepping carefully as her orange tabby tried to wind around her ankles. Mosley cried out for affection and Lily half-heartedly bent down to stroke her cat's spine before moving forward and up the stairs.

As she climbed the staircase, Lily spared a glance for her wedding photograph. Richard had never looked more handsome than he had that day, and she still had the wedding dress in the back of her closet. She considered taking it out for a moment before abandoning the idea.

…

The wheels of her shopping cart squeaked every two seconds as they rolled along the linoleum. Lily gritted her teeth and ignored the sound, wishing she could bring her wand to the store.

It wasn't allowed. She shouldn't even bring out her wand for housework, but the idea of locking her wand away in her trunk along with all her schoolbooks and robes and _potions kit_ was too upsetting to contemplate. What Richard didn't know wouldn't hurt him, and no one was home to see her cast a few spells here and there—

"Lily, dear, what a lovely surprise," said a familiar voice.

Lily winced and plastered a smile on her face before coming to a halt. She half-turned, keeping her hands on the shopping cart is if someone might steal the contents.

"Mrs Kern," she cooed. "How nice to see you."

Her grandmother's friend pushed her cart right up besides Lily's. "I don't usually come out to the market these days; Trudy likes to cook for me. But I thought, why don't I make something for my daughter for a change? She's been so generous, taking me in in my old age."

Mrs Kern rarely spoke kind words about her daughter Trudy, and "generous" had never made an appearance before. Certainly Mrs Kern wasn't shopping for her daughter's benefit—Lily had discovered shortly after married life began that the grocery store was not only the locale of fresh food but also fresh gossip. Clearly whatever Trudy had been bringing home was limp and inedible for her mother's raw diet of petty foibles.

"Yes, my mother often spoke of how kind Trudy is," Lily replied.

"It's such a shame about your mother," Mrs Kern simpered. She learned forward like a dog scenting a rabbit during the first hunt of the season. "And poor Gertrude, having to watch her daughter pass on without any grandchildren! At least Wendy got to watch both you and Petunia walk down the aisle before she passed. I wonder, will your grandmother see any great-grandchildren in the future?"

"I know Petunia's trying for a child," said Lily. She wanted to scream at the wizened old woman, using her mother's death as a bait for news. How dare she treat something so painful in such a careless manner? "She and Vernon are so _dedicated_ to starting a family."

"And what about you, dear?" asked the wretched old woman.

Lily froze. "Pardon?"

"Don't you and Richard want a family?"

"Of course we do," she answered. This question was an easy one—she'd practiced her response in front of a mirror many times. "Right now, we're more interested in spending time with each other. It's so important that we truly understand one another before trying to raise a child. Or children."

"It seems a bit difficult to truly understand your husband when you sleep in separate beds."

"I…what?"

Mrs Kern smiled, knowing she had the "rabbit" in her sights. Lily knew it too; her heart was beating a mile a minute. The old woman chased after her story.

"Meg and Paul said they were at your house the other day having dinner, and Meg told me that when she went upstairs to use the loo she just happened to stumble into the guest room, and all your things were in the closet!"

"Did she?" Lily replied through gritted teeth.

Meg West had apparently not inherited Trudy's kind nature, instead taking after her horrid grandmother.

"It's terribly concerning," Mrs Kern added, as though any of this were about Lily's well-being.

"There's nothing to be concerned about," Lily said. Her mind raced.

The old woman pursed her lips. "I know I didn't sleep in a separate bed from Mr Kern in my early twenties," she tsked. "The first five years after our wedding we could barely stay apart from each other."

Lily suppressed a gag at the thought of Mr and Mrs Kern in bed together, of Mr Kern with his sagging face and lewd eyes coupling with the bloodhound he called a wife.

"Well, we _would_ be sharing a bed, except for…" she trailed off with a deliberate, hesitant pause. "No, I shouldn't. It's private."

"Oh, you know I wouldn't tell a soul, dear," lied Mrs Kern as she went in for the kill.

"It's just…poor Richard," said Lily. "He recently had surgery on his…" she lowered her voice, "_manhood_, and it's such a discomfort to have me so near when he can't…_oh, you know…_"

"Raise his mast?"

Lily nodded, trying desperately not to cringe. Oh, she owed Richard for this.

"Not that he won't be able to soon," she added, for the sake of his dignity. "There's nothing permanently wrong. But we're spending a little time apart while he heals."

"I see," Mrs Kern said. The blood was on her lips, or so she thought. "No one will know a thing, dear."

That was a lie, Lily knew as Mrs Kern trundled away. She silently swore at Meg for being so wretched. She'd thought the younger woman could have been a friend, someone close to Lily's age in Cokesworth who she could actually speak to for a change. But no, Lily had been nothing more but the sound of a trumpet in Mrs Kern's never-ending hunt for gossip.

She didn't feel much like shopping anymore. Lily turned her cart around and headed toward the checker.

…

Richard himself arrived promptly at six that evening, letting himself in the house with a pleasant "Honey, I'm home!"

"I'm in the kitchen," Lily called to him.

His footsteps grew marginally louder as he crossed through the foyer and sitting room. "Smells good in here," he commented, walking through the swinging kitchen doors.

"It's an apology meal," she said.

"You're apologizing to me?" Richard inquired. "What have you done?"

"I told Mrs Kern you have a defective...willy." she admitted hurriedly.

Richard dropped the salt shaker he'd picked up. "Sorry, you what?"

"I said I told Mrs Kern your pecker isn't working. Oh, look, the lamb's almost done!"

"Lily…"

She sighed and turned to face him, her back against the hot oven. If she hadn't been sweating before, Lily knew her neck was damp now. "I ran into her at the market and _apparently_ Meg told her we've got separate beds. I had to think of something, and the first thing I thought of was—"

"Damage to my parts?"

"Well, why else would we be sleeping apart?" Lily pointed out. "I did tell her it was temporary, if that helps."

"Damn," Richard cursed all the same. He glanced into the pot of hot water. "Potatoes? Excellent. Anyhow, you said it was Meg who told Mrs Kern?"

She turned and opened the oven. The laml she was baking looked about ready, but when Lily stuck the thermometer in the roast it still wasn't at the temperature she needed. It was a shame; if ever she needed something to do with her hands it was now. Lily closed the oven door again and set the timer to five more minutes.

"When she and Paul came to dinner last week, Meg took a close look at our bedrooms and our closets," Lily told him. "I have no problem with Paul visiting, but that girl is not allowed in this house again. Not if she's going to spout everything she sees off to that horrid woman."

"Paul's gran isn't that bad—"

"She's going to tell all the wives in this town about your little problem. And they will tell their husbands."

"Shit."

Lily bustled over to the stove and checked on the potatoes. "You're not the only one who needs this marriage to run smoothly. In order for that happen, Meg West can't come over again."

"So that's the scolding part," observed Richard. "Are we going to see the 'apology' part of this dinner soon?"

"Lamb, potatoes, and caramelized carrots in about twenty minutes," she answered. "Go get freshened up, and then help me set the table, if you please."

"Alright. I have to say, there have been better apologies in my lifetime." Richard hesitated before adding, "Thank you for covering, though. I wish it had been a different lie, but I _do_ appreciate it."

Lily nodded twice; sharp, jerky movements that didn't really mean anything. As Richard walked away and headed up the staircase, she nodded again to keep the pressure behind her eyes from turning into tears.

…

**2**

The dog had been hanging about for the past week. Lily had first noticed it when she went for a stroll through her neighborhood; a large, mangy dog with black fur and giant paws. She had thought nothing of it at the time, but after spotting it at least a dozen times since, all times without an owner, Lily was growing nervous for the poor creature.

She'd resolved after watching the dog chase after a squirrel that the next time she spotted it, she'd take it home and give it a proper bath.

What Richard would think of a pet in their home, Lily had no idea. They'd never discussed owning a pet, mainly because caring for another living being implied some sort of long-term commitment. Mosley had been Lily's cat before she got married and it was by tacit agreement that after the marriage ended he would stay with her. A new pet was a different discussion altogether.

But the dog tugged on something in her. Whenever she saw it there was an innate sense of familiarity, one that kept touching an instinct to take the dog home and feed it, and she would simply inform Richard that the dog would be her responsibility.

That was why on this day Lily had embarked upon a long walk around Cokeworth, wand hidden in the band of her skirt, hoping to catch a glimpse of the mangy creature. She hadn't walked through most of Cokeworth in a long while—half the town was covered in soot and the other half was likely to give her bad memories. Yet she was discovering some of the pain in those memories had quieted.

For example, the front lawn where she and Petunia played with Richard as children, two blocks down from where she and Richard lived now, used to fill her with such regret, but today she didn't think it mattered all that much.

And the park swings where Severus Snape had first told Lily she was a witch…well, that was a batch of mixed feelings, of which she felt only muted echoes.

After several hours of wandering through the town, Lily turned onto Spinner's End. She'd deliberately avoided all routes that lead to the cul de sac, wishing to see anything but Severus' old home. She heard Tobias Snape still lived there, even more bitter and inclement since his wife had passed. Lily remembered feeling sorry for Severus when she learned about his mother, the first time in a long while she'd pitied anything about him at all.

The elder Snape had never liked Lily, treating her with a mixture of disappointment and revulsion. He thought the worst of witches and wizards and viewed Lily as a traitor, as though she had willed herself to become magical somehow. She'd never played with Severus on Spinner's End because of Mr Snape and even now a little part of her held that same childhood fear of him.

It was the dog, ultimately, that decided her excursion down Spinner's End.

She saw the hind quarters of it ducking behind a ramshackle house, tail up in the air and wagging. Lily glanced around the street but saw no one—not that she would, at this time of day. Most occupants of Spinner's End worked in the factory, men and women alike. Emboldened by her apparent privacy, Lily hurried forward.

"Dog?" she called tentatively, completely at a loss of how one might call an animal. Lily had only ever owned cats in her life, and cats never responded to summons. "Here, dog!"

She peered around the house, catching a glimpse of black fur. The dog was ferreting through the garbage with apparent glee, snorts and snuffles filling the air.

"Hello, there," said Lily. She pulled out her wand very slowly.

She didn't think it was dangerous, but it was a very large dog and one never knew about rabies and the like. It might go mad and suddenly run her down, and what good would that do either of them?

As she stepped on a crinkly tarp discarded on the ground, the dog snapped its head up.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Then the dog cocked its head curiously.

"_Arf_?"

"Hello," Lily repeated. She tucked a good length of her wand behind her to keep from scaring the creature before realising to the dog, it was just a stick. She brought it back out into the open. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"_Nrph_," the dog answered. With a last, longing look, the dog pulled itself away from the trash bins and started padding toward Lily with a wagging tail.

She bent down and put out a hand. "I'm very nice, see?"

The dog stepped forward and smelled her for all of two seconds before stretching out a large pink tongue and wiping her entire hand, leaving behind sticky drool.

"Ugh," Lily groaned. She wiped her hand on the hem of her skirt. "Listen, I'm going to take you home and give you a bath, alright?"

It was possible she was imagining it, but the dog's tail began wagging a bit harder in response.

"Come along, then, that's a good dog," she said, standing. "Good boy. Are you a boy?" She bent over and peered between the dog's legs where his manhood dangled proudly.

The dog nudged her thigh with his head and looked up with large, eager eyes.

"Yes, you're adorable," Lily told him dryly. "Let's go home."

…

Mosley reacted very badly to his new companion.

Within the first ten minutes of the dog's arrival, her orange tabby completely tore up Richard's favorite armchair, clawed Lily's arm hard enough to break skin, and, when the dog had enthusiastically given chase, pushed the matt in front of the back door so far away that it was nearly in the foyer.

Lily had to physically pull the dog away from Mosley after her cat had been cornered in the sitting room, a feat that was more difficult that should be since she was also using a Shield Charm to separate the two. It wasn't until she had locked the dog inside her bathroom upstairs that Lily could set everything to rights. The armchair, scratches, and doormat were easy enough; Mosley's terror was another matter.

"Hush, Mosley," she insisted for the fiftieth time as her cat cried loudly. "Hush, you're fine."

Mosley had peed all over the carpet in her one-minute absence, and Lily could not for the life of her find the missing drops of it. She could smell the urine so she _knew _it was there, but Mosley had done a good job in his revenge of hiding the evidence.

"Shh," she added as he whined more insistently. With some hesitancy, Lily put out her hand and began to stroke his back. She'd had a few bad experiences where Mosley had used his claws to communicate his displeasure with her, but thankfully he seemed more interested in comfort than justice at the moment.

It took a few minutes, but Mosley's puffed tail did return to its normal sleekness. He began to purr.

"There, see?" Lily reassured him. "That dog won't do anything to you. He's a good dog. You can't even hear him barking up there, he's so good."

Mosley eyed the staircase, apparently _not_ agreeing with her.

"Come here," she sighed, grabbing him around the middle and hoisting him up.

"_Scourgify_," Lily incanted, pointing her wand at the carpet. She fanned the cleaning spell all over the sitting room and then silently dried off the surfaces, returning everything to the spotless condition in which she kept it.

"There," she said to no one. To Mosley she added, "Let's get you some food."

…

"What on earth should I do with you?" Lily asked the dog a while later.

He splashed around in her tub, a rubber duck Lily had found under the sink his current quarry. If it was possible for animals to smile this dog was grinning like a madman. He seemed determined that she should be at least as wet as she was and Lily had given up drying herself off with hot air from her wand.

In response to her question, the dog looked up with large, irresistible eyes.

"I'm not going to toss you back out on the street," she reassured him. "You need food and a warm place to sleep, don't you?"

He wagged his tail frenetically, flinging water in all directions.

"Thank you," Lily said sardonically. She sighed and leaned forward again to wash the last of the soap out of the dog's fur. He didn't smell appealing by any measure and Lily had to restrain herself from wrinkling her nose. It wasn't the dog's fault; no reason to be rude over the whole wet dog affair.

"I hope you have an owner somewhere," said Lily as she drained the tub. The dog shook himself all over her. "I don't want to put you up in a shelter where they might put you to sleep, but I _can't_ keep you here for too long. Richard already puts up with Mosley as it is; if I start my own pet rescue I suspect he'll put his foot down."

"_Arf_," he replied. Lily fancied that the bark sounded inquisitive.

"You'll meet Richard tonight," she explained absently. "He's very nice, but not much a pet lover."

She grabbed one of the fresh towels from her cupboard and put it on the linoleum tiles. With another towel she began wiping down the sopping wet dog.

"If I let you downstairs, you have to promise not to bother Mosley," Lily said. "He's gotten quite comfortable being the only pet around and I don't want to upset him. Don't chase him again; that'll put you out of the house faster than anything. He's my only friend in the world, you see, and I can't have him hating me."

It was nice, talking to the dog as though he understood. Lily was beginning to see the appeal of a dog—whereas Mosley often exuded an air of indifference, this dog was staring fixedly at her with large, understanding eyes that she couldn't help but confess to.

Even as Lily went through a list of tasks she would have to undergo in the next day—a trip to the vet, dog food, a leash and collar, not to mention toys—she didn't feel overwhelmed at the thought. The dog was a different sort of companion than Mosley.

He might even be good for her.

"I'll have to figure out what to call you," she murmured.

The dog licked her cheek in cheerful response.

…

**3**

"We can't keep him," Richard said after dinner the next night.

Lily had been in the middle of arguing the dog's case for permanent residence, and she shut her mouth with a glare, leaning back into the couch with one hand still on the dog's soft head.

"He's surprisingly well-trained for a stray, I'll give you that," he continued, "But Lily, we can't…you know why we can't."

"I like him," she retaliated. "Besides, you don't have to do anything. I'll take care of everything around here, just like I always do."

Richard's eyebrows went up. "There's no need to be rude."

"It's true, and you know it," Lily shot back. "I'm expected to take care of everything, just sit around the house all day while you go out and have…_friends_."

He looked slightly ashamed.

"I understand this isn't fair for you," he acknowledged, "but we can't have a dog."

"Can't I have anything for myself?" snapped Lily. She pet the dog's soft ears, hoping he wouldn't shy away from her harsh tone.

"Lily, Paul is allergic to dogs," said Richard. He gave her such an earnest yet somehow _pathetic_ look that Lily knew, she _knew_ that no matter what she said or if she got down on her knees and begged it wouldn't make the slightest difference.

Just like everything else that had ever made her happy, that she'd ever wanted, this dog was not destined to stay.

She glared at Richard, knowing that really it _wasn't_ his fault; they were both stuck in a life they hadn't wanted. But at least Richard got to keep something for himself. At least Richard didn't have to hide who he was.

"I'll help you put up flyers tomorrow," he offered after a minute. "We'll go around the neighborhood and let everyone know about this dog, and if we don't find his owner I'm sure there will be someone who wants him."

His tone was very reassuring, but the words failed to live up to his intentions.

Lily didn't answer, and eventually Richard got up from his armchair and headed upstairs to his bedroom. He shot a half-hearted "goodnight" as he went, to which she didn't respond.

It was only when she heard the door to his room shut that Lily slid to the floor. She wrapped her arms around the dog's neck and buried her face in the fur around his collar. The dog seemed to understand; he propped his chin on her shoulder and sat very still.

She didn't cry.

The days of Lily's tears had long past. She never let them fall, no matter how much they might try. It was a small victory against her lot, but even small victories made the difference between monotony and misery.

Lily didn't know how long she sat there with the dog, but at some point she stood up dusted off her trousers, and looked down at him.

"You'll be spending the night with me," she told him. "Let's make the best of a bad situation, yes?"

The dog wagged his tail in response.

She smiled at him. Mosley could sleep somewhere besides her bed for one night, at least.

…

Richard didn't keep his promise.

In the end, Lily was the one who went around Cokeworth neighborhoods, stapling posters that read:

"Dog found. No known owner, very friendly, please call Mr and Mrs Richard Beauchamp for details. If no owner steps forward, please contact about adoption."

Lily hadn't a camera so none of the flyers had a picture of the dog itself, but she had brought him along to keep her company. Before leaving the house she'd conjured a leash and collar for him which he had _not_ liked.

She was in a supremely foul mood, most of it directed toward Richard who had at the last moment realised he was to have tea with his mother and sister. She wasn't entirely sure if she believed him, and in her irritation was convinced that he'd invented the whole thing spur-of-the-moment so that he wouldn't have to work at all.

In the mid-afternoon Lily gave up altogether and walked home, her feet sore and blistering. She hoped Richard wouldn't be at the house—she wanted to heal her blisters and wasn't keen to wait until her husband went to sleep.

"I hate Paul," she announced to the dog. When she glanced down at his large, earnest eyes, Lily sighed. "I don't hate Paul," she amended, "but I wish he didn't always come first. I'm not expecting Richard to love me, but he could at least respect me."

She grimaced at a signpost for Miners Court, where Paul lived with his sister Molly. Paul didn't have to marry anyone, unlike her and Richard. Paul didn't have to put on a façade just to pass by in life; no one in their right minds would spread rumors about Mrs Kern's grandson around town, even if they happened to be true.

The younger daughter of the Evans family who attended a mysterious school in Scotland, or the only Beauchamp boy who never dated anyone, on the other hand, might as well be open season for the gossiping wives of Cokeworth.

"Honestly," Lily told the dog, "if I'd known what I was signing on for when I agreed to this whole marriage thing, I would have run straight to London and gotten a flat with my schoolmates."

…

Later that night, over a lukewarm dinner minutes from turning bad, Richard apologised for leaving her alone. As was the standard between them, Lily said she forgave him.

Her "forgiveness" didn't stop her from dropping scraps of meat on the floor for the dog in a very obvious manner, which the dog reveled in. Richard grimaced at some of the more exuberant displays from the dog but seemed to realise he was in no position to protest.

A part of her was ashamed to be torturing Richard so…but a larger, more vindictive part enjoyed lashing out at _someone_, even if it was over something like a dog she'd only known for two days.

Despite her satisfaction, Lily went to bed feeling hollow. She had the dog follow her upstairs to sleep on her bed again. He'd been a comforting presence the night before and if Lily had never needed a comforting presence, this was the best night for one.

"Let's make the best of this, shall we?" she asked the dog, who wagged his tail before hopping up on her bed. "I'm going to take a shower, and then we'll go to bed."

The dog flopped onto his stomach and stared up at her with warm eyes, tongue lolling out. She suppressed a wince at the drops of drool coming out his mouth and headed into her bathroom. Even though she had no reason to hide anything from the dog, Lily shut the door and, after a few seconds' thought, locked it.

Twenty-five minutes later, she was quite glad to have done it, because when Lily stepped out of her bathroom with wet hair and her soft bathrobe on, she let out a high-pitched shriek that hurt even her own ears.

Distantly, she heard a door open and footsteps coming toward her down the hall.

Richard rapped on her door. "Lily? What is it?"

She didn't answer, still staring at the bed. Lily wrapped her arms across her chest tightly.

"Lily?" a brief pause. "Should I come in?"

"It's alright," she called to Richard through the door. "Just a spider. I killed it." Her eyes didn't leave her bed.

"Alright," Richard said after a minute. "Goodnight, then."

"Goodnight."

Lily waited until she heard him shuffle back to his room and shut the door before hissing angrily, "What in Merlin's name are you doing on my _bed?_"

"Well, you invited me to sleep on it," answered Sirius Black.

…

TBC

…

_This is the first three parts of my ongoing fic on tumblr (see my profile for a link). The fic is updated Tuesdays and Fridays at 4pm PST (Pacific Standard Time), and I'll be putting new chapters up every other Friday at 2pm PST. Let me know what you think so far!_


	2. Chapter 2

**It Always Starts in Cokeworth  
Chapter Two**

_Previously:_

_Lily waited until she heard Richard shuffle back to his room and shut the door before hissing angrily, "What in Merlin's name are you doing on my bed?"_

"_Well, you invited me to sleep on it," answered Sirius Black with a smirk._

…

**4**

"I beg your pardon?" gasped Lily.

Sirius was on his side, his head propped up by one arm and the other arm draped gracefully along his body. He looked as posed as a model without any apparent effort. In the years since Lily had last seen Sirius he had grown even more handsome, if such a thing was possible.

If she hadn't been so shocked by his appearance, Lily would have resented him.

"You said you'd take a shower and then we'd go to bed," he told her. Merlin's beard, was he _pouting?_ "Here I was, looking forward to another night of cuddling—"

"What on earth are you talking about?" she demanded.

"Oh, _Lily_," he sighed, rolling over so that he was on his back, propped up by his elbows. It only made him more attractive, damn him. "Lily, we spent the entire day bonding; how could you forget? We walked, we talked, we shared a dinner together—pity that other one had to tag along. Did you wash away your memories of me along with the day's dirt?"

She stared at him.

"You're the dog!"

"Guilty," Sirius agreed, sitting upright at last.

"You're an animagus?" Lily continued somewhat hesitantly.

"Also guilty!" he laughed. "Be honest; the last two days, didn't I seem familiar to you?"

Lily rubbed her forehead. "I don't understand."

Sirius flopped back onto the bed—suddenly, he was a dog, _the_ dog—and just as suddenly he was Sirius Black, looking up at her with a mixture of expectation and smugness.

Falling back into old habits with Sirius was surprisingly easy. Lily reached toward her dresser and grabbed the closest thing to her, which happened to be a framed photograph, and chucked it hard toward his head.

He caught it with only a little bit of surprise. "Lily, that's not how you treat a guest," he scolded with that infuriating smile of his. "Especially one you took a bath with."

For a moment Lily felt a rush of anger toward Sirius, realising all the times she'd been indecent in front of him without her knowledge. Then she began to giggle.

"You played with a rubber duck!" she managed to gasp.

Sirius glared at her, his cheeks a bit pink. "I was acting like a dog."

"That's for certain," she remarked, a hand to her mouth. For the life of her, Lily couldn't stop imagining Sirius as he was now running around on all fours, chasing Mosley through her house. "Why on earth did you act so silly for so long though?"

"Well, I couldn't believe it was you!" he answered. He sat up earnestly, no longer posturing for effect.

"Didn't you recognise me?" Lily wondered in surprise.

"I _recognised_ you, yeah," said Sirius, "but I'd never thought I'd find you living as a Muggle—a housewife, no less!"

Lily shifted, crossing her arms over her chest again. "What's so wrong about living as a Muggle? Are you saying that's not as good as being a witch?"

"Don't be sour, you know I don't think that way," he said. "You've loved magic since the day you arrived at Hogwarts; what am I supposed to think? And if I ever _did_ think you might put away your wand, I'd fancy you running a town or the country or something. Did you give it all up for that twat?"

She squinted down at her feet. "That's none of your business."

He scoffed. "Oh, really, Evans? Him, that Richard fellow? You don't even sleep together!"

"Look, I'm not Lily Evans anymore, all right?" snapped Lily. "I'm Mrs Lily Beauchamp. And you can't stay here any longer."

"Don't you think I know that?" Sirius leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. "When you picked me up I was on a very important surveillance mission—"

"You were eating from a rubbish bin."

"I was undercover," he explained with a surprising amount of dignity. "It's great to see you, it really is, but I can't go off and live with some Muggle family for the next five years."

"So leave," suggested Lily, although the thought filled her with a panicked loneliness. "That would solve all our problems."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Don't you think your precious _Richard_ would notice?" his eyes lit up; Lily could almost see the lightbulb go on above his head. That light had always been a sign of danger and she couldn't imagine much had changed in the past two years. "We could have someone come get me."

"Or I could just tell him someone came and got you," she pointed out.

"No, if he sees someone take me away he won't have any questions," he waved her off. "It's perfect. No muss, no fuss. I just need a way to Disapparate from here."

"I made the house Apparition-proof," she said, "but why don't you just Disapparate and don't come back? Surely that's more complicated than it needs to be."

"So we're agreed," Sirius went on, completely ignoring her. "I'll just go outside and—"

"We are _not_ agreed—"

"—find the right person to come get me tomorrow."

Lily threw up her hands. "Fine. I know better than to argue with your silly ideas, though once you realise how unnecessarily complicated this whole thing has become I expect an apology."

"Hurry up and get dressed then," he urged.

"Beg pardon?"

"Take me out on a walk," Sirius said, as if this were a perfectly obvious conclusion she was to have drawn. "We'll go to a park and I'll Disapparate."

Lily rolled her eyes. "_Fine_. Get in the bathroom and don't you dare come out while I get changed."

…

Despite constant hints and outright declarations that Sirius' plan was ridiculous, Lily didn't manage to get through to him.

She wouldn't admit it, but his stupid idea actually made her happy—she got to spend even a few more hours in the company of a friend, and it wasn't until Sirius Disapparated behind some bushes that she realised how much she'd missed him since Hogwarts.

So even after waiting in the cold night air for half an hour, hoping no one would walk past and wonder what she was doing out so late, Lily was glad to have Sirius come home with her. It helped that he remained a dog and slept on her cold feet during the night.

She couldn't sleep for hours after they got back, staring up at the ceiling and remembering how she met Sirius Black, how they got to know each other, became friends with one another…the last time she saw Sirius in person, and the last time she saw a photograph of him.

And then her thoughts turned to that article, the one his picture had been in, and Lily's heart lurched into a pain she couldn't put into words.

…

Breakfast was a slow affair. Lily had only slept for three-and-a-half hours, waking up far earlier than she would have liked when Sirius had come up and licked her face until she pushed him aside. Even as a dog, kisses from Sirius Black were unwanted.

"Is your person coming to get you this morning?" she'd asked him in between brushing her hair and making up her bed.

His only response had been a wagging of his tail, which Lily found to be entirely unhelpful. It was just as possible that he was showing his approval over Lily's nightgown as answering her question.

But just in case someone _was_ coming by, Lily had thrown on a nice patterned skirt and blouse and low-rise heels and dashed on some light make-up. Sirius sat watching her the entire time, and she ignored his knowing stare.

Lily served oatmeal that morning, not willing to fry up anything. Even after learning the dog she'd fought so hard to keep was really Sirius, a part of her still resented Richard all the same. In any case, she was tired and wanted to do as little work as possible.

Sirius made a few disgruntled sounds throughout breakfast that clearly indicated his displeasure, which she responded to by taking the leftovers from the previous night's dinner and putting them on the floor.

Thankfully, he finished slobbering all over her floor and kitchenware by the time Richard came down, done up in his usual suit and tie and his briefcase swinging wildly.

"Why didn't you wake me up?" Richard asked as he shoveled some oatmeal into a bowl. He sat down, perched on the edge of his seat, and spooned large amounts into his mouth. He resembled a well-dressed chipmunk.

"I didn't realise you weren't awake," she pointed out.

"I'm going to be late for work," he grunted through a mouthful. "Mr Clements is going to butcher me."

"Is that my fault?" Lily asked, her tone indicating quite clearly she didn't think so.

Richard made an exasperated growl and swallowed. "I'm not angry with you, Lily," he snapped. "I'm just in a hurry, alright?"

Lily shrugged and put a hand on Sirius' head. "Alright."

She watched him finish his oatmeal. Richard's last bites were over the sink as he kept trying to put down the bowl while still eating from it, a habit of his she'd found entertaining when they were teenagers. Since living with Richard, this habit had lost some of its appeal for her.

He wiped his mouth on a towel and ran his fingers under the tap for a few seconds, using the same towel to try his hands. Lily hid her displeasure at this and waved at Richard as he picked up his briefcase and dashed from the kitchen.

"He's not usually like that," Lily explained to Sirius in an undertone. He just looked up at her, unusually still.

"He isn't," she repeated as she heard the doorbell ring.

Sirius jumped to his feet. His tail started wagging furiously, so hard that his entire lower body was swaying back and forth. He opened his mouth and his tongue lolled out. If dogs could smile, Lily would swear Sirius was grinning.

"Is that them?" asked Lily.

He started to pace, a low whine in the back of his throat.

"Darling, could you come to the door, please?" Richard called through the house. "And bring the dog, if you will."

They only ever called each other "darling" if someone who didn't know about the arrangement between Richard and Lily showed up.

She stood, brushing at her blouse and skirt with vague self-consciousness. Sirius lost his patience and barreled forward, barking in excitement.

Lily hurried after him, saying, "I'm so sorry, he's just so excited—" She pulled up short and stared.

"Lily, darling, this is the dog's owner," said Richard, gesturing to their guest in the foyer. "Mr…er…"

"Potter," the guest finished, looking—and sounding—as stunned by Lily's presence as she was by his. "Thank you for taking care of him."

"Yes, well, I've got to run," Richard said absently. He grabbed his keys and squeezed past James Potter in a panic, leaving Lily alone with the last person she'd ever expected to see in her house.

…

**5**

_**1977**_

"Evans, you're looking awful fit in that skirt," Sirius hollered across the courtyard.

Lily shook her head, suppressing a smile but not quite managing to hide her blush. "You think anyone in a skirt looks fit," she called back.

Sirius sauntered over to her, hands in pockets and a cocky, carefree grin on his face. James Potter shuffled along behind him with his head down. "Not true, Evans, not true," Sirius said. He tossed his hair out of his eyes. "Only the ones with some spectacular legs."

"Are you looking at my legs?" she replied, glancing at James. He wasn't looking at her or Sirius, and his head hung so low that his glasses were in danger of slipping off. He tugged at the hem of his untucked shirt.

"Who isn't these days?" said Sirius with a generous scan up and down the length of her body.

Lily rolled her eyes. "I'm surprised you can see anything behind that hair of yours. Potter, isn't it your job to keep this one well-groomed?"

"He's very concerned with his grooming habits," James answered in his usual almost-mumble, looking up with a slight smirk. "I'd rather not get in between Sirius and his vanity."

"You're just jealous you're not as handsome as I am," his friend shot back. "It's a job to keep my hair this attractive. Evans and I know how hard it is to be extremely good-looking people, don't we, Evans?"

She hesitated, glancing between Sirius and James. "You're being far too silly to talk with," she finally decided. "I've got an essay to write, if you'll excuse me."

"Come off it, you know I'm right," Sirius dismissed her excuse with a wave of his hand. "This one doesn't know the first thing about looking good."

"He does alright," she defended James, though she didn't dare look at him. Her cheeks could fry an egg. "You just can't see, you know, because of the hair."

Sirius snorted and tossed his hair yet again. "Birds love this look."

She gave him a long, hard look and then pursed her lips with slow deliberation. "Nah, it's not working for me."

James chuckled and her heart skipped a beat.

Sirius gasped at her. "Well, you've got bad taste, haven't you?"

"I've got to go, Sirius," Lily reminded him, and turned smartly on her heel.

He followed her, and when Lily glanced around she saw that James had stayed in the courtyard, watching them. He ducked his head and shuffled off when Lily caught his eye.

"Well isn't that something?"

"Excuse me?" she turned her head back to a very smug Sirius.

He pointed at the courtyard, walking backward alongside her as if it were the easiest thing. "You're all googly-eyed over my mate Potter."

…

Lily didn't move until she heard Richard's car screeching onto the street. Her whole body trembled—she didn't know what to do with her hands.

That was a lie; she wanted to reach out and touch his face, take off his glasses and look into his eyes to see _what kind of person—_

"Hi," James blurted out.

"Hello," she answered warily.

He shoved his hands into his pockets for a moment, and then pulled them out again. With one hand he tugged on the hem of his shirt and with the other ruffled up his hair. It was so _James_ that her stomach lurched and she wanted to scream at him.

"Sirius didn't say anything about you being here," he told her, gesturing to where Sirius, still a dog, sat with a lolling tongue. "He just said that someone had nabbed him and to come get him."

"Right," said Lily. She stepped forward and carefully closed the door—careful, because she didn't want to touch him. Careful, because she couldn't have the neighbors see. She turned back to James. "How have you been?"

"Fine, I suppose," he said. "How…er, how about you?"

Lily pursed her lips. "Married."

He glanced around the house. "Right, right. That was, er, _Richard_, wasn't it?"

She couldn't read him. Lily had always been able to read James Potter like a book.

"Yes, that's right. Richard."

James whirled on the spot and turned his back to her. He strode over the mantelpiece over the fireplace and picked up a photo, turning it over in his hands.

"I forgot; Muggle pictures don't move," he murmured. One finger trailed down the side of the photo frame hesitantly.

Lily moved forward a few paces, stopping to glare at Sirius and his stupid wagging tail for a moment. How could he do this to her? What did he think was going to happen—and shouldn't he know better, of all people?

The picture in James' hand was one of Lily, Petunia, and their mother.

Her breath caught. She remembered the day they'd taken that photograph; it was two days after Christmas in Lily's seventh year. Her mother had been so full of colour then, and every time Lily saw Mrs Evans afterward she'd been a faded echo.

"How's your mum?" asked James quietly.

"She passed away," Lily told him. "November of '78. At least she got to see me get married."

James put down the picture frame very suddenly and Lily jumped at the sound.

"Sorry to hear that," he said, somewhat abruptly. "I…I know you and she were close."

A faint panic started building in her, so small at first that she only knew it was there because she'd been waiting for it since the moment she saw him.

"Would you like a tour of the house?" Lily suggested. She needed him to say yes, he _had_ to say yes…

"Erm…sure, alright," he agreed, shrugging.

She nodded, only the slightest bit relieved. "This is, er…this is the sitting room, here. And, er, right through here is—"

Lily turned on her heel and swept into the rarely-used dining room, glancing behind her every two seconds to see if he was following. Her neck ached a little from the abuse.

James walked past her and to the long table, brushing his fingers along the polished oak. He looked down at the chair.

"Well, hello, Mosley."

Lily's cat made a soft grunt in response, lifting one paw toward James' hand. He obliged by petting Mosley, who immediately began purring.

For the first time since she saw James Potter in her foyer, Lily had some doubt. If James remembered Mosley, and more importantly, if Mosley knew _James_…

"This old sport's been with you the entire time, hasn't he?"

"Since third year," Lily answered softly.

Never mind.

"Oh, that's right."

"Here's the kitchen," she murmured, moving again.

It was in a state of disarray; Lily had forgotten. She led James through this room hastily, only pausing to gesture at the back door. The floor plan looped around again into the sitting room, and Lily walked up to the stairs.

"That's Richard's study," she said, pointing at the door on the other side of the sitting room. "We don't allow visitors in there."

She started walking up the stairs, fully expecting James to follow. After making it halfway up the steps, she realised hers were the only footsteps. Lily turned back.

"You look very lovely here," James mumbled.

With a lurch in her stomach, Lily saw he was pointing to her wedding photo.

"Thank you," she whispered. "Er…shall we?"

"How did you meet Richard?"

"I've always known Richard," said Lily, crossing her arms uncomfortably. "We grew up together. He, Petunia and I were all friends. Our mums were friends."

"I see," said James. He grimaced. "I see."

Lily didn't want to talk about Richard. "Shall we?" she suggested, inclining her head to the second floor landing.

"Right," he muttered, and wrenched his gaze from that damned wedding photograph.

She went directly to her room. It was hard for Lily not to run, or even walk hastily. What she wanted was to sprint the rest of the way and just get the whole ordeal over with.

But she couldn't.

"This is my room," she said, opening the door. "I've got some school photos on my dresser, there—" Lily let James go ahead of her. He headed straight for the pictures, just as she hoped, with his back to her. She walked to her bed and bent down, stretching out a hand.

"That's from sixth year, isn't it?" he said. "I recognise the stupid haircut Georgie had."

"Yeah, it was," Lily agreed, standing back up. "Though I don't know how you'd know that."

"Pardon?"

James began to turn around, but Lily put her wand in the soft spot between his ear and jawline. She pressed _hard_.

"Lily—"

"It's strange," she continued, a tear rolling down her cheek, "That you'd remember anything from sixth year. You see, I know that James Potter died a year ago. So who the hell are you?"

…

TBC

…

_Thanks to everyone who has been reading this story, on this site or on tumblr! Your support and enthusiasm is what keeps me going, and I would appreciate it so much if you could drop a review and let me know what you think so far! Cheers  
_


	3. Chapter 3

**It Always Starts in Cokeworth  
Chapter Three**

_Previously:_

_James began to turn around, but Lily put her wand in the soft spot between his ear and jawline. She pressed hard._

"_It's strange," she continued, a tear rolling down her cheek, "that you'd remember anything from sixth year. You see, I know that James Potter died a year ago. So who the hell are you?"_

…

**6**

"Lily," the fake James said quietly, "It's me. It really is."

"Don't _lie to me!_" she yelled, another tear escaping. "I know he's dead! Just because I'm living as a Muggle doesn't mean I'm clueless!"

He raised his arms in the air slowly, showing her his empty hands. "I swear to you, I am James Potter."

"Oh, so I suppose ten witnesses and three Aurors all got the facts wrong?" snapped Lily. "James Potter was killed in the Battle of Diagon Alley alongside Sarah Drake and Peter Pettigrew. It was headline news for over a week in _The Daily Prophet_. There was a funeral!"

"There was a redaction," the fake James said soothingly. She wanted to rip all his hair out, hair that should only belong to James and not this liar in front of her. "Two months later, the _Prophet_ printed a redaction of my death announcement. I was held in captivity for—"

"Shut up," she said angrily.

"Lily," he began.

"No, don't say another _word!_ Don't you dare use his voice!" She was crying freely now, something she had not done since reading of James' death.

The fake James locked his hands behind his head. "Why would Sirius have me come here if I were an imposter?" he mumbled quietly.

"You've tricked him," Lily hissed. She jabbed her wand into his neck a little bit harder. "He couldn't accept James had died and you tricked him. Because he wanted to believe you. Because it was easier. Of course you tricked him; Sirius has never been good at letting things go."

"Lily, I swear to you, if you just let me explain how—"

"I'm not Sirius," she went on. Her voice broke a little. "I've had a year to come to terms with James' death. You can't fool me so easily."

She stepped back and flicked her wand. It was as though an invisible hook grabbed him by the ankle and dangled the fake James in mid-air. Lily hadn't used _levicorpus_ in years and his head scraped the carpeted floor of her bedroom. His shirt slipped halfway down his chest, revealing a line of hair from his belly button to below the waistline of his blue jeans. Whoever this was, they'd gone to great lengths to replicate James Potter's body.

"Oy!" he shouted. "Cut it out!"

"Who are you?" she shot back.

"Lily, come off it, I'm James!"

"Stop saying that!"

"Lily, what are you doing?"

She turned her head and saw Sirius in the doorway. He was glancing between her and James with a decidedly worried frown.

"He's not James," she explained, as gently as she could manage. "He might have told you some story about captivity, but James Potter is dead. Somewhere you know that, deep down."

Sirius took a step forward. "Put James down, Lily," he said in a soothing, cautious voice. Lily couldn't help but feel insulted at his tone, though she knew he was labouring under a delusion. "It's really him."

"He isn't James," Lily repeated. She wiped at her wet cheeks.

"I am!" the fake James shouted. His face was red from all the blood rushing to his head.

"We were suspicious too," Sirius reassured her. "When he came back, we put him through loads of tests. He has the same Patronus. He knows things only James would know." He hesitated for a moment. "He's an animagus, just like me. His animal form hasn't changed. You know as well as I do that animagi can't be impersonated in their animal form."

This gave Lily pause. "Him too?" she asked, lowering her wand. She released the (possibly) fake James, who crumpled to the floor.

"Yes," said Sirius, visibly relieved. "I've personally seen him change."

Lily looked back and forth between the two men, her heart hammering. She _wanted_ to believe Sirius—living in a world without James Potter was dull and colourless. From the minute she had read of his death Lily had wanted some magic to bring him back. And yet she had made that knowledge part of her identity, much as James alive had been part of her.

"Prove it," she blurted out.

James glared up at her from the floor. "I was trying to before," he grumbled. "Ask me anything."

Lily opened her mouth, ready to ask, and then closed it. She turned to Sirius. "Could you leave us alone for a moment?"

Sirius frowned warily. "Are you going to dangle him by his ankle again?"

"Probably not," she said, gripping her wand tightly. "If he's not James, though—"

"Look, if I'm not James Potter, I'll use _levicorpus_ on myself," James grumbled as he stood up.

Sirius narrowed his eyes at her but turned and walked out of Lily's bedroom, albeit rather slowly. Lily waited until she heard him on the stairs before turning back to James.

"In seventh year, after you won the Quidditch match against Hufflepuff," she said abruptly. Her voice shook a little. "What happened that night?"

James' irritated expression dropped, and she saw a look in his eyes that she'd only ever seen once before—on the night of which she spoke. And she knew, right down to the core of her, in every small space of her body, that this was James Potter.

"Nothing," he muttered. "Nothing happened."

Lily burst into tears again, but this time a smile stretched at her cheeks.

…

"What were you even doing in Cokeworth?" Lily asked Sirius an hour later, pouring tea into the china cup she'd placed before him. "You told me it was an important mission."

The two men sat at her tiny kitchen table as she served up tea and the rest of her reheated oatmeal from breakfast. Sirius, who had already eaten the leftover dinner she'd served him when he was in dog form, had abandoned his bowl and was dangling a piece of string above a playful Mosley.

"That's secret," Sirius answered distractedly.

"I might understand a secret mission if it were in London," she said, "but nothing ever happens in Cokeworth." She sat down across from James.

It was rather difficult to stop staring at him; now that Lily knew for certain that it was really, truly James Potter in front of her and not an imposter, she couldn't help but to examine every miniscule feature. He'd grown more handsome in the past two years, less gangly and unsure on his own feet. The way he sat, the way he held his shoulders… Lily felt eighteen all over again. She turned her attentions back to Sirius.

"Well, you must know why," he replied, twirling the string around. Mosley kicked at it with his back feet.

"I really don't," Lily confessed. "I can't imagine what you might find in this place."

"You grew up with Snape," James mumbled. Lily snapped her gaze back to him. "We've been looking for him for weeks, and I heard you saying once that he lives on Spinner's End."

She put her chin in her hand. "Oh, Merlin," she said, pursing her lips. "How long have you been here, Sirius?"

"Almost two weeks," he said.

Lily sighed. "I'm afraid you've been wasting your time," she told them gently.

"If you're trying to protect him, Lily, you should know he's killed a lot of people," James told her, sounding rather angry. "Most of them Muggles whom he tortured beforehand. He needs to be brought in."

"I'm not arguing with that," she said defensively. "I know what he's become! I only meant that Severus Snape wouldn't be caught dead in Cokeworth."

Sirius dropped the string into Mosley's waiting claws and sat up with renewed attentiveness. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"The only reasons Severus ever came back home on holidays were for me or his mother," Lily explained, embarrassed to be admitting such a thing in front of James. "We're no longer friends, and his mother died a while back. Only his father is left, and there is no one Severus hates more than his father."

She gave them both hard looks, letting them know that statement included them. Even with all the antics between the boys in school, sometimes bordering on violent abuse, Lily hadn't ever seen evidence that either Sirius or James had surpassed Tobias Snape.

James glanced down at his oatmeal in mild shame.

Sirius grimaced. "Well, Moody will be right pissed about all this," he announced. "Do you have any idea where he might be hiding out, if not here?"

"I don't," she said icily, "since we haven't spoken in years."

"No, I know, but if there are any places you two used when you were kids—"

"She said she doesn't know, Padfoot," James interrupted. Lily tried to catch his gaze; he stared determinedly at his oatmeal.

Sirius stood. "Right. Lily, it's been great catching up. Stay in touch?"

"Sure," she agreed.

He nodded at James before exiting through the back door. Lily imagined he could find his own way to leave—after he realised her back yard was also Apparition-proof.

James continued eating at his usual slow, deliberate pace for some time. He avoided her eyes but kept glancing at her hands. Lily wanted desperately for him to say something, _anything_, but she waited. Her body kept shaking and she didn't trust her voice to remain steady. It had betrayed her once already this morning.

She sipped her tea to keep herself from blurting something out.

It wasn't until James finished his bowl of oatmeal that he spoke. "Why didn't you read the redaction in _The Daily Prophet?_"

Lily blinked. "What do you mean?"

"You said upstairs that you read about my death in _The Daily Prophet_," he explained, scrutinising the salt and pepper shakers in the middle of the table. "I don't understand how you missed the redaction."

"Oh." She pushed at her unused spoon. "I…er, I cancelled my subscription. About a week after that article said you died."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

There was more silence between them.

After a few minutes James stood up, clearing his throat. "I should go," he mumbled. "I've got to get back to work. Now that we know Snape isn't here, I've got to find other places to look."

"Right," said Lily, getting to her feet as well. "Looks like there's no need for you…or Sirius to stay in Cokeworth any longer."

"No, I suppose not," James agreed. "Take care, Lily." He began to leave the kitchen.

"James!" she called out hastily.

He turned back and finally looked her in the eye. Her heart skipped a beat and made up for it with a giant _thump_. Her knees tried to buckle.

"I…I'm really glad you're not dead," Lily managed to say amidst the chaos of her reactions.

James smiled. "Me too," he said, and left.

She didn't let herself slump back into her seat until the front door had opened and closed.

…

**7**

After the brief excitement from re-immersing herself in the Wizarding world, Lily found the return to normalcy in Cokeworth even more tedious, if such a thing were possible. Every conversation she held in town was stale and uninteresting; at home, she barely spoke to Richard.

It was a week before her silence broke—through desperation and an overwhelming loneliness, Lily left her house in the middle of the day and walked down the length of Packer Street. The sunshine was entirely too bright and she squinted all the while, wishing she'd put on a hat or something. She didn't retreat, though. If she turned back, Lily knew she'd lose her nerve altogether.

Though she hadn't returned to her childhood home in months (almost a year, now that she thought about it), her feet carried her along the well-trod path to the Evans' house.

The front lawn was unkempt and all tangled up in weeds and old garden gnomes with missing noses. Lily could easily imagine Petunia's horrified expression, should she see the state their home had fallen into. Unlike Lily, Petunia had taken up their mother's love of gardening and then gone one step further, to the point of near obsession.

Lily took a deep breath before heading up the driveway and climbing the porch steps. She knocked on the front door loudly.

No response.

Well, she had been expecting that. Lily sighed and glanced out at the derelict lawn, wondering if she ought to just walk away. The thought filled her with an aching misery that forced her to turn back and knock again, harder.

"Dad?" she called through the wood. "Dad, it's Lily. Are you there?"

She knew he was; Michael Evans didn't leave his house for anything or anyone. He hadn't for nearly two years.

"Dad," Lily repeated. "Dad, I'm coming in."

The other side of the door remained quiet. Lily turned the doorknob and found it unlocked, and was unsure if she should be worried or not. She pushed the door open and was met with the sounds of tinny cheering from a small speaker. She let herself in and shut the door softly behind her.

The hallways lights were dim. It probably did a service to the interior of the house, masking the worst of the clutter and dilapidation in dark corners. Lily wrinkled her nose at the musky, stuffy odour of canned tuna and made her way forward.

She turned into the sitting room, where the sound was loudest, and saw her father slumped in his armchair in front of the telly. A whistle blew shrilly through the speakers.

"Dad?" Lily said hesitantly.

Michael Evans looked up. A smile stretched on his face with hollow conviction. "Lily, my dear," he answered in a tone close to warm. "What are you doing here?"

"I knocked," she told him, awkwardly playing with the folds of her skirt. "You didn't answer."

"Mhmm?" her father said absently. His eyes focused for a moment. "Sorry, darling. Come sit with me; West Ham is playing. I really think they'll win this time."

Lily bit her lip and looked at the ratty couch he was gesturing toward. She hadn't remembered it being so unclean from her last visit.

"Dad, isn't Martha Regis supposed to come by and clean?" she asked.

"Ah, well, she does what she can, but she's just had another baby, see," Mr Evans murmured. His gaze was fixed back on the little screen. "Don't like to bother her with all the mess."

"Dad," she began, and sighed. "Alright, what's the score?" She sat down gingerly. It wasn't the way of the Evans women to live in an unclean home, and even sitting on an unclean couch unsettled her, but her father wouldn't take kindly to her barging in and tidying up without so much as a "hello."

"Nothing yet," he reported. "There's just been a foul, lining up to take the penalty shot now."

"I see that."

Lily watched a bit of the game. In all honesty, football had lost its appeal right around the time she'd seen her first Quidditch match at school, and once her friend Hannah had taken her to see the Wimbourne Wasps play against the Ballycastle Bats there really was no point to Muggle sports for Lily ever again. But her father loved football, and Lily loved her father.

"I saw a friend from school last week," she said after a while.

Mr Evans half-turned his head toward her. "What's that, darling?"

"A friend from school," Lily repeated. "Well, two friends, but I suppose only one of them was actually a friend of mine."

"From Hogwarts?"

"Yes, dad, from Hogwarts."

Michael Evans looked right at her. "Did you go somewhere?"

"No, they came here."

He looked confused. "What were they doing in Cokeworth?" his eyes narrowed. "It wasn't that Snape boy, was it?"

"Why does everyone think I'm still mates with Severus?" Lily sighed irritably. "No, it wasn't 'that Snape boy.' It was someone from my House. Did I ever tell you about Sirius Black?"

"Hmm…Sirius Black…I think so. Bit of a ponce, didn't you say?"

"I probably did," Lily admitted. "He's a right old flirt, but he's a good friend to have. Anyway, we were talking about magic and what's going on in the Wizarding world and…I dunno. I miss all that. I miss it so much, Dad."

Her father turned down the sound on the telly. "Still?"

Lily felt a little flash of anger at him. "Yes, _still_." He sighed very loudly, which only irritated her more. "It wasn't just for school, Dad; magic is my life."

"Yes, but darling, you can't just cast spells for the rest of your life," he said in a reasonable tone. "At some point, you've got to be an adult and make real decisions."

"I hardly think playing house with Richard is being an adult," she pointed out. "I could've gotten a very real job in the Wizarding world."

It wasn't the first time Lily had discussed this with her father—far from it, actually—and she highly suspected it wouldn't be the last. Though enthusiastic about her magical talents, her father had never really understood the true value in a magical education. She knew he imagined it as a fanciful addition to her skills, much like learning to sew or decline nouns in Latin, and not as a pathway to a career.

"Do you want to get a job, sweetheart?" Mr Evans asked placatingly. "I don't think Richard would mind, he's a rather modern gentleman, considering his family—"

"Forget it," Lily snapped. She immediately regretted her tone. "I mean, how would I explain that to Richard?"

"Ah, that's right," he agreed. "He didn't take well to it the first time, did he?"

She shook her head, remembering the day she'd come home to find Richard flipping through her newly purchased copy of _Advanced Transfiguration_ in horror. Lily had been forced to modify his memory, which in turn had earned her a very strict letter from the Ministry of Magic along with a hit-wizard inquiry in the matter of her under-age magic in the presence of a Muggle.

There was no way Lily would ever reveal the truth to Richard, not after that incident. Some people just weren't able to relearn everything they knew about the world, and although Lily kept Richard's secret she didn't dare trust him with her own.

"Lily. Lily, darling?"

She blinked and came back into the moment. "Sorry, what?"

"I asked if you came here for something in particular," her father said, looking concerned. The irony almost made her laugh.

Almost.

"Just to talk," she said. "I should get back; I haven't started on dinner yet."

"Don't you want to see how the match turns out?" Mr Evans asked as she stood.

Lily shook her head. "That's alright; I'll let you enjoy the game in peace." She started to leave, and paused when she caught sight of a pile of newspapers in the corner. "Dad, I'm going to call Martha Regis and ask her to come over more regularly. You shouldn't be living like this."

"I'm fine, darling," he reassured her. "It's only a little clutter, don't you worry about it."

There was a solid difference between "a little clutter" and "shambolic disrepair," and though he didn't know it, her father had long crossed into the latter. He might think he was fine, but from the outside looking in, Lily knew better.

"She probably needs the money, anyway," Lily told him. "And please lock your door?"

"Of course, darling," her father said, already refocused on the telly. "Give my best to Richard, won't you?"

"Sure," she muttered. "Bye, Dad."

He didn't answer, and after waiting nearly a minute for some sort of acknowledgement of her exit Lily gave up and hurried out of her childhood home. She nearly tripped over a large clump of weeds as she crossed through the front lawn.

Coming back here had been a mistake. Lily didn't feel any better for it, didn't feel any sort of relief in visiting her father or talking about magic. At the heart of it, Michael Evans was a Muggle and couldn't understand what magic meant to Lily no matter how much he supported her.

All she'd gained from the visit was a renewed understanding that her entire life was built on lies. Lies to her parents and grandmother about Richard, lies to Richard about her life—lying all the time and never getting anything out of it.

Lily tried to think of a single enjoyable truth in her life, and when she could find nothing, she kicked at a shrub violently.

Not for the first time, she imagined how her life might have turned out had she not married Richard and had moved somewhere besides boring old Packer Street in smelly old Cokeworth.

Her thoughts didn't linger there for too long; picking at old hurts never did anyone any good.

…

**8**

Lily knew her night would be an unpleasant one when Richard approached her with a nervous expression that morning. She'd seen that look before and knew the question that would follow it; it was the same question every time.

She should be grateful that at least Richard continued to ask.

"Lily," he began, voice half an octave higher than his usual.

"Mmm?" answered Lily. She continued to make up her bed, a few drops of water from her wet hair flinging onto the sheets.

In theory, she _should_ put poor Richard out of his misery and just agree to it before he got around to asking, but Lily harboured a small fear that, should she agree once without an air of reluctance, Richard would take that as universal consent. She would take even the smallest measure of control where she could find it.

"I was hoping that…perhaps, Paul could come over tonight for dinner?" Richard smiled with an edge of hesitancy. "And Molly too, if that's alright?"

Lily sighed, but no good would come from letting him dangle. "Under one condition," she told him sternly.

"Of course," he agreed instantly.

"Meg," said Lily. "She's not to hear a word of this, and she is _not_ invited."

"Oh…yes, I remember you said something about—"

"Absolutely _no_ Megan," she repeated.

Richard nodded, a genuine smile tugging at his lips. "Thank you, Lily. Thank you so much. I really…thank you."

He left the kitchen, and Lily resisted the urge to tear up her bedsheets.

…

The first time Lily had realised Richard was different was the summer after her second year, when she was thirteen and starting to notice how nice boys could be. The incident had been quite a shock to young Lily.

She'd been looking for Petunia, who had gone out with some friends. Back in the first few years of Lily's attendance of Hogwarts, Petunia was always out with some friends. She wasn't the most popular girl in her school but she always managed to be away when Lily was home.

Lily recalled wishing to talk to Petunia about fancying some boy at school. It was George Westfeld, who was a fourth year during Lily's second year, also a Gryffindor, and in possession of some truly blue eyes. She fell asleep thinking of those eyes.

Petunia and Richard were in the same year of school, three years ahead of Lily, and she'd reasoned that of course Petunia would be around Richard. Their mums always talked about how the two were perfect for each other, how they were thick as thieves and would end up married with grandchildren. Lily listened to her mum and Mrs Beauchamp with wide eyes and believing ears.

Her belief was shaken once she stepped through the gate that led to the Beauchamp's backyard. There was Richard, but Petunia was nowhere in sight.

Instead Richard was locked in a feverish, clumsy kiss with another boy. Lily hadn't recognised him, and to this day she still hadn't asked. Richard's eyes were closed and he was leaning in as though he was to fall.

Lily wasn't a stranger to kissing, but she'd never seen two boys kiss before and stared in surprise and confusion for a good while.

It simply didn't make sense to her that Richard would kiss anyone but Petunia. She couldn't understand what on earth this boy had that Petunia didn't.

After a while the kiss ended, and Richard looked over to see her standing next to the house with an open mouth and wide eyes. He'd panicked, yelling at her, and the other boy had taken off over the fence faster than she could have believed.

The fear Richard had…Lily hadn't seen anything like that on his face before, but she knew that fear. She felt that fear every time someone at school threatened her because she'd been born to Muggle parents and though she didn't remember how they got there, Lily ended up hugging Richard tightly.

She hadn't breathed a word of the kiss or what it meant to anyone. It was Richard's secret and she had no right to share it. And no one should look at Richard the way pureblood students at Hogwarts looked at her.

…

"What do you think they're talking about?" Molly asked Lily after dinner.

They were washing dishes together, Lily washing and Molly drying. Lily could just see Paul and Richard in deep conversation outside in the gathering twilight.

"I try not to ask," Lily replied honestly.

Molly nodded. "I can imagine. Or, perhaps I can't."

"It is what it is," she said, scrubbing very hard at the deep baking pan she'd used for the roast.

"Still," Paul's sister pressed, "It must be uncomfortable for you. After all, you're supposed to be the one Richard loves."

"I don't doubt he loves me," said Lily. "I've always been like a sister to him."

"Yes, but don't you want something more than that?"

Lily saw James Potter's crooked grin in her memories for the smallest moment and her cheeks warmed. "What's with all the questions, Molly?" she retorted self-consciously.

Molly put up her hands, waving the checkered blue-and-white dishcloth like a white flag. "I didn't mean to pry," she defended herself. "I was just thinking, you know, how difficult this entire arrangement must be for you. It's not so bad for Paul and I don't think he realises how well he made out."

"Yes, well, it's not as though Richard has it much better," she answered. "We both got the short end of the stick."

Molly's blonde hair tumbled down her shoulders as she leaned against the countertop. She contemplated Lily.

"You really hate talking about this, don't you?" she said with a confused frown.

Lily shrugged and nearly dropped the pan. With a frustrated groan, she let the thing clatter into the sink. "I'll clean that later," she told Molly, "after it's gotten a good soak." Or rather, once she could just wave her wand and force it clean with magic.

"Lily, it's alright to be upset," Molly insisted. "You've given up much more of your life than you thought you'd have to. If I were in your shoes I'd go mad from all the lying!"

"Well it's good you're not in my shoes, then," snapped Lily, and silently groaned when she saw how hurt Molly seemed. "I'm sorry, I just meant that I'm doing alright. Don't worry about me."

"If you're sure," the other woman said doubtfully.

"Yeah, it's no bother," she said. "Look, why don't you head home? Those two won't be done until much later."

…

Lily regretted sending Molly home a couple of hours later, when she was in the sitting room reading a book and could hear the sounds coming from upstairs.

Paul was an obnoxiously loud lover. Or perhaps Richard enjoyed the loudness; she didn't know. All Lily knew was that she didn't appreciate the disruption. At least Richard tried to keep it down for her sake, but Paul remained as selfish as always.

And that was what Lily could never say to sweet, understanding Molly Kern; that her brother was self-centered and spoiled, and didn't understand the sacrifices Richard made on his behalf.

Richard couldn't hate Paul, not with the way he loved Paul so blindly. Lily could hate him for both their sakes and she did, usually during moments like these when Paul grunted and moaned and made his presence impossible to ignore.

Even a little part of her hated Richard during these moments, because at least he had someone to love him. Lily was alone.

She put down her book and headed through to the kitchen, where she stepped out the back door and into the backyard, breathing in the nighttime air.

All she could hear were crickets and the faint rustling of leaves in the wind, and Lily relaxed her shoulders before even noticing they were hunched up and tight in the first place.

Molly's words sprung up in her mind again, like a burr she couldn't shake. _"Yes, but don't you want something more than that?_" And again, her thoughts turned to James Potter, the way he walked and talked (that stupid, adorable near-mumble), the fact that he was alive…

Lily collapsed into a lawn chair, putting her hands over her eyes.

…

TBC

…

_Once again, thank you for the support of this story on both this site and on tumblr! Reviews are appreciated!_


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